


A Crown in the Balance

by Ramzes



Series: Targaryens: Times of Glory [19]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-28
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-13 06:07:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/820906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ramzes/pseuds/Ramzes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All three sons of Aegon V wed for love. But in was only one of those weddings that had the potential of bringing Westeros to turmoil once again. Unless the succession can pass smoothly to Aegon's frail, sickly second son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Everyone rose at dawn at this cold morning of anticipation, even the children. To his surprise, Jaehaerys realized that he had slept like a log – the unspeakable tension of the last few months while they were waiting to see how the tide would turn was already taking its toll. Unlike him, his wife had been obviously weeping desolately, although he was sure the paint would hide any trace of her distress. Together, they stared at the pigeons taking off from their nests under the rafters to go on their business before sitting to break their fast. Even the children realized that there was something going on because they were strangely silent; suddenly amused, Jaehaerys now saw that they did have table manners that did not include stealing tidbits from each other's plate whenever they had the chance, after all.

Shortly afterwards, it was almost time to leave. Jaehaerys went to his bedchamber and looked with distaste at the finery laid at his bed. Usually, he disliked wearing the Targaryen colours because they enhanced the sickly pallor of his skin and the frailness of his frame but today, it was a special occasion, so he resignedly reached for the tunic in red and black. When he was ready, he touched the dragon egg he kept in his bedchamber – a ritual that had been soothing to him since childhood, when his grandfather gave it to him and his mother assured him that the egg would chase any malady away. It was blue and white, like sky adorned with small clouds. He believed it brought him luck.

The escort was ready – about twenty of the household knights and two Kingsguard, led by the Lord Commander itself, an unexpected honour. Jaehaerys' eyes traveled up, all the way to the big knight's face and stayed there. Ser Duncan the Tall's cloak was immaculately white, his conduct the picture of duty, yet for someone who knew him as well as Jaehaerys it was obvious that he was deeply concerned. He didn't like what was going on. _No one does_ , Jaehaerys thought _. Father, the Small Council, the family, I… Only Duncan doesn't care._ He looked down, trying to stifle the sudden anger at his brother for taking the easy way out, not caring about the consequences.

The party left slowly. Jaehaerys immediately saw that the streets were black with people. All those who lined the long road, they must have been waiting for hours. Their faces lit up as the mounted group passed by, they waved and screamed themselves hoarse. Jaehaerys' name came out again and again.

Quite unexpectedly, the Prince found himself moved. His throat closed. The people of King's Landing where he had grown up in gave him their trust, accepted him, celebrated him despite the highborns' derision for his frailty, despite the fact that he had yet to do anything for them or the realm… It was an indication of his father's success, of the glorious legacy he would have to prove worthy of. I will, he vowed. _As many years as the Seven see fit to grant me – I'll spend them all serving._ As they were starting to climb Aegon's Hill, another realization came to him – that today, he was going to the Red Keep to take his brother's place, his brother who they had also loved and applauded… But they had come – thousands of them.

Now, only one question remained: would he be accepted by the high lords, the four Wardens of Westeros? This kingdom had known the Dance of Dragons, the Blackfyre Rebellions, the strife between many who wished to be king; but the peaceful withdrawal that Duncan gave now, it was something new. It should have gone smoothly. It _would_ have, had it not been for Jaehaerys' damned health, or rather the lack thereof.

As soon as they dismounted, Jaehaerys was escorted to the King's chambers where he saw Alor Gargalen just leaving. The King's Hand bowed low, as if Jaehaerys was already the affirmed heir, and went on his way. Not a smile, not a reassuring word. _That's how it should be,_ the Prince thought. Now, it wasn't the time for reassurances.

The King waited in his solar. Duncan stood at the window. At Jaehaerys' entering, they both turned. "The people will love you," Duncan said and grinned.

"It isn't their love I'm concerned about right now," Jaehaerys replied.

Duncan poured him a goblet but Jaehaerys declined. For a while, he stared at his brother. Duncan was as handsome and cheerful as ever, as if he didn't realize the hard place he had put them into. His black hair shone, his eyes glowed. He looked happy, relaxed. _Of course_ , Jaehaerys thought resentfully. _No matter what happens now, he's free of the hardest one of all duties._

"Was it really needed for you to summon the Wardens?" Duncan asked his father.

The last months had aged the King with decades. His features were now sharper, his face gaunter. His eyes flashed at his eldest a bolt of deep purple anger. "Yes," he said. "Because if we don't reach accord now, it might come to a Great Council now – or after my death. You both remember the last time we had one?"

Jaehaerys and Duncan both shuddered. They remembered. "Where is Mother?" Jaehaerys asked, trying to steer the conversation to a safer ground.

"She's ill," Aegon said.

And a very convenient illness it was. Now, the Small Council and the Wardens would discuss Jaehaerys' and his younger brother Aemon's makings and faults at great length, trying to decide whether they could affirm Aegon's choice of successor when the chosen one was… a weakling, an invalid, as the rumour was. A very convenient illness, indeed. One that prevented Rhae from witnessing her sons' public humiliation. Jaehaerys looked aside.

It would be simpler if the King would just announce his wish and will. But it would be no sure thing. They needed to bind the great lords to assure Jaehaerys' succession – and they needed to get their support willingly. That was why Aegon would not attend the session that was taking place right now. Jaehaerys would have to convince them of his worth all on his own.

"Are you ready?" Aegon asked.

Jaehaerys nodded and went through the door a servant now held open.


	2. Chapter 2

Jaehaerys went with measured steps through the narrow passages connecting the royal apartments with the official part of the Red Keep where the lords had gathered in. He went past closed doors and sparsely lit hallways with no hesitation and no thought as to his route. When he saw the hall where the Small Council convened, though, he paused – he couldn't help it. He knew that there was no one in there, yet he opened the door slightly and for a moment stood staring at the big table, at the eight chairs of sandalwood and meticulously arranged parchments. How often he had come here as a child, sitting near his grandfather at the sessions, listening to everything and understanding maybe half of it but willing, wanting to understand. King Maekar had taken him along, with the only condition that the boy kept silent. Yet the older Jaehaerys got, the more common it became for the King to turn to him at once and ask a question about Jaehaerys' thoughts regarding the particular problem they were trying to solve. And Jaehaerys loved giving answers that elicited a smile of content from his grandfather because it was so rare for the hardened King to show affection when there were outsiders there.

He had never expected that one day, he'd sit in Maekar's place, had never desired it. Mother help him, he did not even sit in his father's council, yet he was now expected to suddenly become an heir of all? All responsibilities, all that one should have been _taught_? What were they all thinking? That it could actually _work_?

Someone touched his hand lightly and Jaehaerys found himself staring at a pair of big purple eyes full of reproach. The boy looked at him and then pointed, quite plainly, far down the corridor. "Fine," Jaehaerys sighed and noticed that he didn't need to look down much to look at his cousin face to face. "Fine, Rhaegar. I get it. I'm going."

The boy stared at him and then folded his arms, making it clear that he was not going anywhere until Jaehaerys went on his way; slightly amused, the older Targaryen thought that the entire family seemed so keen on seeing him making it to the hall as if they expected he'd bolt out if they let him out of their sight, it was almost funny. "I was just thinking of Grandfather," he said but of course, Rhaegar wouldn't understand. He didn't remember their grandfather. He didn't even remember his father… and that was a good thing. Some people said that one should speak only good of the dead or keep silent but Jaehaerys thought that truth was truth, no matter who lived and who did not. And the truth about Aerion Brightflame was that everyone was better off with him being dead, Rhaegar included. "I'm going."

The end of the corridor led him up a spiral staircase and an empty room. He clicked open a small aperture in the wainscoting and stepped to a peephole looking out onto the great hall where the first Targaryen kings had held their meetings with their military commanders and where the four Wardens and the seven members of the Small Council were already gathering around the huge rough table.

The Hand of the King was the last one to sit down – a clear signal that the meeting could begin. Silence descended. Then, a tall man slowly rose. Jaehaerys recognized the stern face of Jasper Arryn, the old but imposing and powerful-looking Warden of the East. That did not surprise him in the least – the man had reputation of daring and brutal honesty.

Jasper's voice reverberated against the walls, "Noble lords, it's a hard decision we are asked to make. I am a father and I can relate to how hard it must be for our liege lord the King. But the truth is that we should not heed his will in this. No man, and I least of all, would deny Prince Jaehaerys' makings. There are many of them, and only a madman would fail to be proud of having a son like him."

 _Not the wisest choice of words_ , Jaehaerys thought dryly. Madness held peculiar meaning when mentioned in any regard to the royal family of the Seven Kingdoms. His hands started knotting his doublet, waiting for the harsh part that would follow the pleasantries, albeit, the Seven help him, it seemed as if the man actually _meant_ them.

Lord Arryn did not disappoint. "But the sad fact is, his state of health creates dangerous uncertainty. He's been living on the Stranger's mercy ever since the day he was born. We live in dangerous times, my lords. Prince Duncan's marriage is only following the unrest that Prince Jaehaerys' choice of bride created and that took so long to die away. The lords see these love matches as treason and unwillingness on the Targaryens' part to fulfill their duty to the realm. The Blackfyre threat is never ending and the events that took place mere six years ago should serve as warning that their cunning and ambition had not abated with time."

 _Events._ For a moment Jaehaerys saw red. His hands came into fists. In this moment, all he thought was that should he become King, he'd have Lord Arryn's tongue cut out and consequences be damned.

A gentle hand detained him. He found himself face to face with a man who was way older than his father, yet still possessed some of the strength that, in his prime, must have been something to be reckoned with. His dark eyes glimmered. "Your Grace, please. Your time will come."

Jaehaerys stopped. Ser Galend's simple gesture spoke volumes. He, who had been Jaehaerys' grandfather's closest friend, he who had been part of the young man's life since Jaehaerys could remember, had never touched someone of royal blood without permission.

In the hall, Lord Arryn went on. "We'll need some strong leadership in the hard times to come. Strong not only in spirit but in body. And I'm afraid Prince Jaehaerys isn't it. Prince Aerys is only six. If, the Seven forbid, King Aegon's days are over soon, we might very well found ourselves with a minor King in a year or two. And then what? We'll be summoned again to confirm a regent?"

"What an idiot you are," Ser Galend muttered. "Have you forgotten what happened to our last king who had been dangerously ill only once in his life? Lots of good it did him against Haegon Blackfyre's mace."

Jaehaerys chuckled, suddenly reassured that not everything had changed. He distinctly remembered Ser Galend being quite irreverent straight to Maekar's face when he felt justified. He was a no-nonsense man, always had been.

Now, the King's Hand stood up, a slim pillar of dark finery and icy indignation. "By the Seven, never have I heard the like! How dare you presume not only the King's impeding death but also the Prince's one? What do you suggest we do, my lord? Violate the line of succession? Based on what, your personal preference on how Westeros should be ruled? What if I now say I consider your second son, Ronnel, to be a better choice to succeed you as Warden of the East? I hear he's quite the administrator."

To Lord Arryn's credit, he did not rise to the bait. "We are not discussing my sons here," he said. "We're talking about the future of the Seven Kingdoms."

"Aye," Alor Gargalen agreed. "And what exactly do you propose we do with it, my Lord Warden? Entrust it to Prince Aemon instead?"

Without waiting for the other's answer, he swerved to the others who could not take their eyes off him. Gone were the days when he was the hated Dornishman, the bastard, the opportunist who had clawed his way to the top from under Princess Daella's skirts. Now, people no longer said his name with curses but with praise and honour. He had proved that he deserved his position by the virtue of his abilities; his opinion could not be of no meaning to the gathered lords.

"I have met with His Grace more often than any of you here," he went on. "I have spoken to him at length and I assure you that what he lacks in constitution, he makes up for in determination and devotion. Being a warrior is a good thing, my lords; however, having a good head on one's shoulders is even better. I do not deny any of Prince Aemon's makings. But I see no need of us to rely on them in his capacity of King of Westeros and honestly, neither does the Prince. Not when we have a perfectly acceptable, excellent, _lawful_ choice instead. I say no to your request, Lord Arryn; no, to the disinheritance of our King's elder son, Prince Jaehaerys!"

The assembly erupted. Shouts shook the hall, lords and members of the Council started arguing with each other, fists banged on the table – now, Jaehaerys realized how wise the first Aegon had been to order it massive and rough – and caps were torn off brows and thrown on the floor. The Hand sat back, a satisfied smile on his face.

"It's time," Ser Galend muttered and watched the young man descend a narrow flight of steps to a small door opening into the hall.

Jaehaerys waited for a while. The noise slowly faded.

He opened the door and walked into the hall.


	3. Chapter 3

The silence that descended was so absolute that the cries of playing children could be heard clearly from the garden; for a moment, Jaehaerys thought that lately, Aerys and Rhaella had had no desire to go outdoors and play. They had not been forbidden – they could simply feel the tension all around and it afflicted them, too. In his already angered state, Jaehaerys took this as another thing to blame his brother for.

He did not falter as he stared at the scrutinizing faces in front of him. Now, he realized that the Small Council and the Wardens were not the only ones present. Lord Warrick who had been Maekar's Master of Coin bowed low despite the age that had made him smaller and stooped. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard had sat so quietly that Jaehaerys actually hadn't noticed him – no mean feat for someone of Ser Duncan's size; suddenly brightened, the Prince noticed that his father's old friend was seated near Lord Jardan who had taken up Alor Gargalen's post as Master of Ships – no doubt the Hand's design, meant to provide Ser Duncan with someone who would not hesitate to kick him under the table if he was about to let his temper get the better of him. If the Lord Commander's red face was anything to go by, Lord Jardan had played his part dutifully.

Some of the members of Maekar's Small Council were there as well – the former Master of Laws, the onetime Master of Whisperers. They all offered a low bow and Jaehaerys saw that the Wardens could not help but be swayed, ever so slightly. Those were the men who had once held the fate of the kingdom in their hands and none of them had ever shamed himself. They had seen Jaehaerys in their midst in his grandfather's times and they accepted him. Lord Stark, especially, was looking at him with new appraisal in his eyes while before, he had been almost overtly dismissive of the Hand's rage.

Jaehaerys studied the silent commotion impassively, his chin lifted, his eyes piercing. "My lords," he declared, not lifting his voice but throwing all his force into it, so everyone looked up to meet his eyes. He didn't meet anyone's, though. "Do you recognize me as the legitimate son and heir of Aegon, our king?"

The Wardens stayed silent; the members of the Small Council, though, did not hesitate. "We do, Your Grace," the Grand Maester declared, his old thin voice suddenly rotund. "Most certainly."

Jaehaerys raised his head a little higher, pretending not to notice the Wardens' silence. "Then, since you recognize me, I will answer to any questions you might have."

His head swam, the nervous exhaustion that had been piling on him for all those months was threatening to overcome him; for a terrifying moment he feared that he'd start choking right here, in front of everyone. His premature birth had left him with undeveloped lungs, so he was always an easy prey to those choking spells. He fought to keep the fear out of his eyes and pose.

The King's Hand shook his head. "We have no questions, Your Grace," he said.

"We do," the Warden of the South said, roughly.

"You are welcome, my lord," Jaehaerys said.

It seemed that the Wardens did not know what their questions were, though. There was an angry shake of heads, fervid murmur, a glare from Lord Garal Tyrell to the Hand who did not return it. In fact, he was making it a point not to look at the Warden of the South – he was very determined to see Jaehaerys confirmed as heir and no conflict would be welcome. Still, the animosity between the Reach and Dorne was longstanding and despite being a lord and Hand of the King, Alor was very much a Martell, the late Prince Maron's bastard. The less contact with Lord Tyrell he had, the lesser chance there was for their grudge to thwart the efforts the King and the Small Council had been making for months.

Finally, Lord Arryn broke from the group and went to Jaehaerys. The young man was quite impressed – the old man should know that Jaehaerys had heard his dismissal, yet he showed no fear. "We have only one question at this time, Your Grace."

"Speak up, my lord."

"Do you believe you'll be up to the hard task of ruling these kingdoms?"

Jaehaerys knew the answer, yet in this moment, for his horror, he felt that he was hesitating. Was he really up to the task? All his fears, all those feelings he had suppressed him entire life suddenly overwhelmed him. He _was_ sickly and meek. Ruling the Seven Kingdoms would shorten his lifespan considerably, most likely. He had never been as good as Duncan, even in the smallest things. He was no warrior. He was not daring and charming. He could not draw people to him so easily. Everyone liked Duncan better – even Jaehaerys himself. He would do his best – but would it be enough? His grandfather had given to the realm all he had, yet he had been unloved and blamed for every hardship Westeros faced. _It is because the King slew his brother,_ the old whispers suddenly came back. _It is because of the King kinslayer and the Queen whore who is not even_ his _Queen._ It would be the same for Jaehaerys – there would be always those who'd think that his brother would have never let it happen, who would blame it all on _his_ choice of wife. And frankly, what did _he_ know about ruling?

"I am so happy that I'll never rule," a boy's voice suddenly spoke. He started to look around, barely stopped. "I don't know how you do it. It's terrible."

Maekar shook his head. Tired and out of patience, as he often was after a long day of arguing with the Council, he still managed to smile at Jaehaerys' vehemence. "Terrible, yes. But you could do it. I know you could. You see, it isn't a mystery, this business of wearing a crown, for all people imagine that it is. All it takes is devotion and hard labour and of those, you have plenty."

"And keeping your temper in check," Jaehaerys joked because with his grandfather, this was the hardest part of it.

This time, Maekar actually laughed, briefly. "This, too. Now, go and enjoy your day. Your day, I said, not the Red Keep's library."

With a jolt, Jaehaerys snapped back to the present and spoke the words that would determine his fate, "I do."

There was an audible ripple through the man, the Wardens looking at him appraisingly once again, making their assessment, trying to determine the consequences if they accepted him or if they didn't. Finally, Lord Stark broke from the group and went to Jaehaerys. "Thank you, Your Grace," he said slowly, heavily. "This is enough for me."

He was about to kneel and pledge his allegiance but Jaehaerys stopped him. "This is something that is due only to the Crown Prince, my lord," he said, "which I am not until the King proclaims me as such, with the approval of the Small Council and the Wardens. Any oath sworn now would be invalid."

Astonishment rippled through the gathering. For a moment, Jaehaerys saw Ser Duncan's proud grin and the small smile on the Hand's lips. His refusal was a mark of respect for the laws of Westeros, a declaration that one day, he'd rule with dignity and honour, the last incense that pushed the other Wardens to act.

"I'll send for the King," Lord Gargalen said.

The rest of the day was a blur of speeches and applause from everyone, from the servants to the crowds lining the road up Aegon's Hill. Jaehaerys saw faces, a sea of faces, some that he knew, some that he could not attach names to, and then some that he had never seen in his life. His ears rang with the refrain of the allegiance sworn to him by everyone and the smell of perfume and musk was stealing the tortured breath of his lungs. The effort to contain his wheeze spread a curtain of red pain in front of his eyes.

"Come on," his father said in a low voice. "We are leaving."

 _It's over_ , Jaehaerys thought, weak with relief. _It's finally over._ He rose and slowly descended the platform with his father, moving with great caution, his eyes drawn to the huge double doors that would lead him to the fresh air. His brothers and sister joined them

The silent gathering in the Throne Room watched the royal family leaving. The guards bowed and opened the doors. The King went out.

Jaehaerys paused. And then, with a jolt, he realized that he shouldn't have. Duncan stepped aside. With the red pain still rendering him almost blind, his head throbbing, his legs almost giving way, Jaehaerys walked past his brother, this one step exalting him to the almost highest level of power.

**The End**


End file.
